


the hole in your life

by katiesparks



Series: virtue in rest [2]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Gen, I will fight anyone, Post-Promised Day, Post-Series, hohenheim was a good man, hospital fic, who loved his sons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-21
Updated: 2017-09-21
Packaged: 2019-01-01 04:26:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12148590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katiesparks/pseuds/katiesparks
Summary: At the end of a long life, all Hohenheim really wanted to do was see his sons whole and at peace.





	the hole in your life

When he walks into their room that night, the light from the hallway spills in and cuts the room in two.

The sheets are white and the rails on the bed are up. There are three IV poles at the head of it and it’s easy to see why when two golden blond heads share the same pillow.

Hohenheim’s first thought is not so much words as a fond jumble of emotions for his stubborn eldest son, who would sleep with his back pressed uncomfortably against the bed rails rather than in his own bed if it meant keeping his brother company.

Al’s face is bony, gaunt, sharp, and a million other words that reflect the malnutrition of years and years of starvation. That he felt none of it until now is no matter to a father. His son feels it _now_ , in the weakness of his muscles, the painful stretch of his skin over his bones, the sad emptiness of his stomach.

But his cheek, stripped of the baby-fat that rightfully belonged to him at the tender age of 14, rested against his brother’s shoulder. Hohenheim wonders if it was frightening, to close one’s eyes and sleep after going so long with no rest. His wishes he could’ve been here to comfort, to reassure, to sing his boy to sleep.

But that is a foolish wish.

His sons, his bright boys, they would not have found his presence comforting or soothing. He would not have even known which lullabies to sing. He missed them growing from babes to boys and from boys to men. And if Alphonse had a father figure in his life, it was not Hohenheim.

In his heart, he knew it was Edward who had to act as Al’s father when there was no other man to step in and do so. A brother and father and a friend and, eventually, a mother.

Hohenheim’s heart ached for Trisha. The date on her tombstone blurred in his mind’s eye. He did not think he was gone that long, but what is time to an immortal man? He was gone long enough.

Long enough that when he returned, nothing was waiting for him.

His home burned to the ground, his sons crippled and scarred and _worse_ , his love six feet beneath the earth.

Edward was right to hate him, after all.

A nurse walked past the door.

“Excuse me, sir, visiting hours are over.” She said firmly when she saw him, her voice pitched low and quiet in the still silence of the room.

“I’m sorry.” Hohenheim said, contrite. “I only…I just wanted to check on my sons.”

“Sons? Ed and Al are? That little devil, he lied! Of course, you look just like them. They’re minors, so you’re welcome to stay, Mr. Elric.” The nurse shook her head at Ed, face contorted in a scowl that was as fond as it was irritated.

Hohenheim felt a pang at the sound of that name. “I’m afraid I—what I mean to stay is, my name isn’t Mr. Elric. That was…their mother’s last name. I’m Van Hohenheim.”

The nurse flushed and nodded. “Of course, I’m sorry to presume. Can I get you a chair?”

Hohenheim glanced back at them once more. Al’s arms on top of the sheets, IVs running to both. His hair still long and uncut, surrounding his head like a halo. Ed’s half of the blanket pushed down and his shirt rucked up. He’d slept like that as a babe, the man remembered in a flash of sepia-toned memory. But gone was that round little belly, replaced with hard abs and a nasty scar.

He drank in the site of them like dehydrated man offered water after crossing the great desert. But he’d crossed the desert long ago. And while, eventually, he’d gotten his fill of water, he knew he’d never get his fill of this.

_“You can hug them, you know. They are your sons._ _”_ Trisha’s voice came to him.

Hohenheim shook his head. He was still a monster and they were still good and pure and all the things a man could want for his bright boys, his only sons.

“No, I was just leaving.” He said quietly. The nurse looked at him, her face a polite mask of confusion.

He turned to go.

_“They **are** your sons._ _”_ He could remember the way she’d said it, as if he were being a silly, senseless man, to deny himself something so basic.

A moment of weakness for a dying man.

He crossed the room in three strides and leaned over them. He pulled the covers back over Edward and arranged the IVs just so and they did not wake.

Their foreheads were dry beneath his lips and as he pulled away, Al’s eyes slitted open and landed on him. Hoheheim froze.

The boy smiled, turned his face into his brother’s shoulder, and went back to sleep.

Hohenheim backed away and left before he found himself unable to go.

Next stop, Resembool. Next stop, home.

**Author's Note:**

> I love Hohenheim and anyone who wants to disrespect Sad Dad in this house can come fight me in the Pit.


End file.
